


Dancing in the Dark

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, a little pining in there too, vaguely s5/s6 somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: A storm separates them from the Black Lion and the Castle during a routine scouting mission gone awry, and Shiro and Keith find a way to pass the time.





	Dancing in the Dark

“How long do you think this storm’ll last?” A flash, followed by a peal of thunder, punctuates Keith’s words. 

Shiro shrugs, watching the way each lightning strike casts Keith in brilliant light, the camera flash of his mind’s eye. Keith stands closer to the cave’s mouth than Shiro would like, but they both know that curiosity drives Keith further, farther, faster. Shiro’s nagging would only be met as a challenge and he knows it. 

“Don’t know,” he answers instead, his stomach clenching with every crack of thunder. “We can’t assume the physics of it will be like home.” Pidge would know, but he doesn’t bother to key open the comms line for her. It’s not important. 

Watching Keith watch the storm, now, that’s the important thing. 

“Mm,” Keith hums. His shoulder rises and drops in a fluid shrug. “Well, hopefully not long. The ground is too wet for a safe fire, and I’d rather not die of carbon monoxide poisoning on an alien planet.” 

“Just on ours, huh?” Shiro asks, remembering an impromptu camping trip with Keith and Matt Holt gone sideways; they had been stranded and took shelter in a cave system, where Matt and Keith had decided to build a fire. It was only after Keith collapsed that Shiro had realized their error. 

He shudders at the memory. Keith was so pale, so fragile in those moments...

Keith’s laughter chases away the gloomy thought. “Yeah, something like that.” He turns back to Shiro. “We could spar, pass the time,” he suggests.

“Maybe not in these conditions.” 

“Afraid of getting shown up, old man?” Keith snorts, and the smile that is captured in the flash of lightning paints itself on the canvas of Shiro’s inner eye. “I would be, too, at your age.”

“Mm,” is all Shiro says before he lunges forward, eating up half the distance between them. Keith jumps backward only to fall on his rump in an inelegant flailing of limbs into the rain. Their eyes lock in the low light. A smile curls over Keith’s mouth.

Shiro laughs _—_ deep, free, cathartic. Without thought, he reaches his flesh hand out. For all the weight and muscle Keith has put on since Shiro left for Kerberos, it’s still a simple thing to pull him up; Keith’s surprise is clear on his face as he comes to his feet, just a breath away. His eyes are wide in the dark, shadowy pools in his pale face. 

“We, ah _—_ ” Shiro stumbles, suddenly off-balance, like he had been the one to fall. “We could practice for Allura’s gala thing next week.” 

Keith nods even as he answers, “I don’t know how to dance.” Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro can see the way Keith’s fingers twitch. “Not a lot of time to learn.” 

“I can teach you,” Shiro hurries to say, unheeding of the small voice in his head. When was the last time he danced? Or, at least, danced with any kind of grace? Adam had liked ballroom dancing and they sometimes would take classes together, back when things were good and easy. Back before the fights, before slamming doors and stony silences and the moving boxes. 

“You can?”

“Yeah.” It’s too breathless, too… _something._ “What, are you saying you doubt me?” Shiro adds. Breathing room. A little distance. 

But Keith doesn’t get the message, because he only shakes his head, eyes never leaving Shiro’s face. “Nah,” he says, and it’s flippant but heavy, somehow. He takes Shiro’s hands in his own. “You’ve always been a good teacher.” 

Something around the level of his navel wrenches in Shiro’s gut. Keith never shies away from the prosthetic. Never. The other Paladins have studied it, regarded it curiously, watched and observed and tinkered with it, but never have they just so effortlessly, thoughtlessly reached for him on his right side. 

“Okay.” The word punches out of him and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, just that he needs to say something. “Okay,” Shiro repeats, and he shifts their positions, his left hand falling to the slim curve of Keith’s waist, just below the edge of his rigid chestplate, where it gives way to the more flexible underarmor layers. It’s a little awkward but it works; Keith’s hand on his shoulder is a familiar and welcome weight, and their free hands meet and lock easily. 

“Don’t make me look like an idiot,” Keith murmurs when Shiro leads them into the steps of a classic box. They sway and turn in time to the lightning strikes outside. 

“Have I ever?” Keith looks away and a flush steals over his cheeks, just barely visible in the light. “Keith?” Shiro presses quietly. 

“...no,” comes the faint reply. “Never.” 

Shiro hums and takes Keith into a simple spin, and Keith responds like he’s danced all his life, all graceful, fluid movement. Silence grows between them, their shuffling footsteps and breaths the only noise in the cave. Outside the rain rages harder. 

“Do you want to try a dip?” Shiro almost regrets the words as soon as he speaks them; the way they bring a hint of uncertainty to Keith’s eyes is a criminal offense. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Keith huffs. “Don’t drop me.” His hands shift under Shiro’s guidance, clutching at his shoulders.

“Relax,” Shiro says, “I won’t. I promise.” The lean is slow, almost too slow to be easy, but Keith follows where he leads and bends backward against the strength of Shiro’s left arm. Shiro's hand splays out between Keith’s shoulders. 

“Like this?” Keith’s eyes dart between them before settling back on Shiro’s face. 

“Relax,” Shiro suggests again. He’s not sure where the words are coming from, only that he can’t stop them. “I’ve got you.” Keith lets out a breath and closes his eyes, bending deeper into the dip. “Like that, yeah.” 

“This feels…”

Shiro gently pulls him back, arm tight across Keith’s back. “Yeah?” Keith’s eyes are open again and he leans forward now. The blush across his cheeks hasn’t abated. Shiro can feel an answering flush stealing over his own face. 

Keith darts his tongue out, wets his lips. “Shiro…” he breathes. His hands shift from Shiro’s shoulders to rest where his collarbones are hidden under the hard shell of armor.   “I _—_ ” 

The comms buzz in their discarded helmets before Keith can finish his thought, before Shiro can prod him for anything further. 

 _“Pa—dins! Come—”_ comes the tinny crackle of Allura’s voice. The moment breaks like an over-stretched rubber band and Keith leaps out of his arms, his face a furious red. Shiro watches him scrub his hands over his arms before snatching up his helmet. 

“We’re here,” Keith responds. He fastens his helmet on and doesn’t look at Shiro, turning instead back to the storm. “Can you hear us?” 

_“Mass—storm system—signals—”_

“Yeah, the reception is shit here, too. We’re safe. Repeat: we’re safe. We’ll wait out the storm.”

Shiro moves to the wall and sits down to watch Keith’s unconscious pacing at the cave’s mouth. Keith repeats his message but doesn’t get a response. With a huff, Keith plops down along the wall beside him, an arm’s length away. 

“Well, we’re safe, at least,” Shiro offers. “Black would be worried and would find us otherwise, right? Like Red.” 

“I guess so,” Keith mutters, but he doesn’t look back at Shiro, looking anywhere but at him instead as he takes his helmet off again. It stings and Shiro pushes it down, unwilling to consider that point of wounded pride. “We can try them again after the storm. We’ll just have to wait.” 

“Patience yields focus,” Shiro intones sagely. He wonders if his grandfather can see him now; where is Heaven on an alien planet? He studies Keith’s profile. His grandfather would appreciate him, Shiro decides. 

“'Patience yields focus,'” Keith echoes, and he relaxes against the wall, whatever tension that had wrenched his shoulders releasing. “We’re good.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. He shuffles, getting comfortable. His left hand slides between them _—_ a stabilizer, he tells himself, keeping him upright against the damp wall. An opportunity, Keith soon proves; Keith’s pinky brushes against his own. Shiro smiles and ducks his head. “Yeah. We’re good.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate comments and kudos, and strive to answer them all! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [@Ocean-In-My-Rebel-Soul](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow me on Twitter: [@OceanSoulRebel](https://twitter.com/Ocean_SoulRebel)


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